


Anything

by WahlBuilder



Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 16:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16044329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Viktor has come so far, and when he thought it would end--it didn't. He doesn't know what to do with himself.





	Anything

Noctis is... loud. In terms of sound, in terms of color, texture, scent... Now, he supposes, more than ever. He has never thought a whole city might be celebrating something so personal. He has never thought a whole people might be so swept in joy.

It’s unstructured, overwhelming—but it’s good because nobody pays him attention.

It’s a small respite, because everything else is... a lot. Accents he’s never heard—though there are accents he does know and automatically bristles at (thirty nine years is a long time). _Languages_ he’s never heard, words he doesn’t recognize.

It’s okay. He doesn’t have to know everything now.

The technomancers are here, scattered across the city. Of course they are here, the celebration is, in half, for one of their own. But there are _other_ technomancers, too, and he doesn’t know what to think of them, what he _really_ thinks of them under everything he learned years ago, was made to learn. He will find out.

He watches those he knows, and wonders at their joy. He’s never… The fact that they are people, too, under the stiff uniform, in the confines of their Chapel, used to be something quaint. Not really on his mind.

But they are. They are. They showed him mercy when he deserved the opposite. They brought him here.

 _Noctis has the heart big enough for everyone_ , the Prince said. Of course there was a speech. The other half of the celebration is for him. The Prince is, too, not what one would expect.

Noctis is unreal. It should be—because how else to explain that it has… not accepted him, but given him a place to stay? To soak in their joy.

Where else can he go? There is a place—some time ago, he would have said it was his place (seventeen years ago, he would have pointed at a particular dwelling in Ophir and would have called it ~~his home~~ his place).

Anton would ask: where else does he want to go?

Mother Abundance, have mercy on your son.

His hands shake often these days. Anton shouldn’t worry leaving him alone: most of the time he can’t even lift his gun.

Not that he didn’t try.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Anton appears by his side and sits down, his shoulder brushing Viktor’s.

They were together, once, in that place he would have called home. They were together, clashing, clawing at each other, for so many years.

Maybe they can be together again, and again, in a different way.

“What do I do now, Tosha?” He looks at Anton.

Anton looks right at him. “ _Anything_ , Vitya.” He doesn’t smile, but something lights up his eyes.

He huffs, looking away. “Not helpful at all.”

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

He watches the lights of Noctis. So many lights.

“Maybe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely self-indulgent, and I have no excuse.


End file.
